Leonardo regretted it deeply. He had been so focused on feeling wronged, on how his efforts had been dismissed, that he forgot the truth—he had made a mistake, and he had been rightfully reprimanded. Worse, he had then shamelessly shifted the blame onto Laila.
The Oscar for Best Actor was his dream, yes, but he still had a long career ahead to keep striving for it. Laila, however, was different. The record she had built was nothing short of miraculous, and now, because of his selfishness, it would come to an end. He could already imagine the backlash she would face once the film was released.
Her detractors would hurl every insult imaginable at her. Rivals in the industry would seize the chance to undermine her.
This movie was his hope, but for her, it was nothing but a burden. Aside from shattering her flawless record, it offered no real benefit.
So why had she taken it on in the first place? Just because she liked the script?
Leonardo let out a bitter laugh and shook his head inwardly. There was only one possible answer—the script had reached her through Roy. She had accepted it purely out of regard for him, even at the cost of her legacy.
"I'm sorry, Roy. This is my fault. I'll do anything to make it right with her." The weight of his realization pressed down on him, and he hung his head in shame.
"I hope you remember those words." Roy stepped closer and clapped a hand on his shoulder—hard. "Be glad you still have scenes to shoot."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Leonardo winced, rubbing his shoulder. If he wasn't mistaken, that spot would bruise by tomorrow. And Roy's meaning was clear: if he weren't still needed for filming, that bruise wouldn't be on his shoulder—it'd be on his face.
A wife-obsessed madman was truly a terrifying thing.
After standing in thought for a moment, Leonardo returned to his room. Not long after, Bar emerged with her bags. Following a brief but tender goodbye, she got into a car and left the set.
Leonardo watched until the vehicle disappeared down the road before reluctantly turning back. His next stop was Laila's temporary quarters.
Knock, knock.
Laila had already woken up and was freshening up in the bathroom when she heard Leonardo's voice from outside.
"Director, I need to talk to you."
Her expression darkened. Frankly, she wasn't in the mood to see him right now. What had happened during filming had left her deeply unhappy, and if this conversation went badly, who knew what else might go wrong?
But the thought of Roy being caught in the middle made her relent. She opened the door. "What is it?"
"I just sent Bar away," Leonardo said awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. "I was out of line earlier. The mistake was entirely mine, and I hope you'll give me another chance."
Laila frowned. She had only taken a nap—how had the world shifted so drastically? Had she somehow been reborn into another parallel universe?
Here he was, apologizing, and even sending away his new, infatuated girlfriend. It certainly seemed like genuine remorse. But what had prompted this sudden change? Had he experienced some grand epiphany?
Just earlier, she had been considering stepping down as director. Her love for filmmaking made it impossible for her to half-heartedly "just get through" a project. If she couldn't give it her all, she'd rather hand the reins to someone else. With her team's support, another capable director might still steer the film toward Oscar success.
But now, his sincere apology softened her resolve. When it came to movies, her principles had a way of bending—or even vanishing entirely.
Still, even if she forgave him, she wasn't about to let him off easy. "Noted. Don't be late tomorrow. I'm going back to rest."
The door closed in his face. Leonardo rubbed his nose awkwardly. If she was letting him return to filming, did that mean she had forgiven him?
When Roy returned to their room, he found Laila already poring over the script again.
"Why aren't you resting more?"
"I've slept enough." She glanced up at him. "Where did you go earlier?"
"Nowhere special. Just took a walk." He had deliberately lingered outside, giving Leonardo time to approach her. Seeing her with the script now, it seemed the storm had passed.
Still, he walked over and plucked the script from her hands, setting it aside. "Work hard when it's time to work, but when you're resting, actually rest. You can't keep your mind wound so tight all the time. You're human, not a god."
To the world, she was the greatest director in cinematic history—a living legend. But to him, she was just a woman who needed to slow down.
"I never claimed to be a god," Laila chuckled, reaching for the script again. Roy smacked her hand away.
"No more script today! Clear your mind. No more work thoughts."
Roy being domineering… was kind of hot. Laila cupped her cheeks, realizing her weakness for his looks was getting worse.
"You're pretty, so you're in charge." She gave up on retrieving the script.
Roy couldn't help but laugh. Would anyone believe that the Laila Moran, hailed as a "living legend," would say something like that?
"Did someone come by earlier?" he asked casually.
"Yeah. Leonardo showed up."
Roy feigned a stern expression. "What did he want? To piss you off again?"
Laila tilted her head, thinking. "I'm not sure what happened. He came to apologize."
"Apologize? He admitted he was wrong?"
"Seems like it. He even sent Bar away. That's got to mean he's serious, right?" She sounded uncertain. Leonardo's behavior had been too erratic—one moment defiant, the next repentant.
An apology alone wouldn't have been surprising—he had always owned up to his mistakes. But sending his girlfriend away? That did seem like a genuine attempt to make amends.
Roy smiled. "If he's made his choice, don't overthink it. Maybe it just finally clicked for him."
Laila sighed. "Maybe."
The next day, when Laila arrived on set, the atmosphere was still tense. The crew moved about like skittish mice, careful not to make a sound. Leonardo sat alone under a tree, script in hand, like an island isolated in the middle of the sea.